


Tempest

by midnightflame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10083908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightflame/pseuds/midnightflame
Summary: And I wasNever sureWhether youWere theLighthouse orThe storm.d.j.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Got enabled to write something with storm imagery based upon the poem in the summary, so here we go!

The last true memory Shiro has of Earth is made of a sky stained dark as hell’s last breath, with all its fury whipping up the desert grit into dust devils that spun across the dirt. They had pelted his boots, reminding him of little sand sharks with their teeth scraping rough against leather and doing minimal damage for all their efforts. It had put a smile to his lips as he had stood there, hand curled around the end of the wooden railing that lined the steps leading down from the cabin. Because nothing could be as vehement in its righteousness as a storm as it swept across the desert, this rare earth-bound denizen that howled and screamed until it unleashed torrents of rain, swift and fierce across the dried out beds where the sun had slaughtered once-upon-a-time rivers whole. 

A rare sight that promised a world of relief. If only for a few hours, a handful of days. 

It had been one of his last afternoons before he would leave on his next mission, and he had stood there, with a day wrapped in faux-night, and he imagined that there would probably never be anywhere else he would rather belong.

Just this, right here and now. 

Because nothing was more beautiful than the world bellowing out its right to exist, drowning everything in its beauty and soaking him right down to the bone. 

When the rain had finally hit, it hit hard, and it hit fast, and it left nothing of him untouched. Shiro had turned his face towards the sky and closed his eyes, smile pulling his lips wide, and every bit of him electric and alive. 

All around him the air had crackled. Thunder had shaken the horizon, and lightning had flashed sun-spark bright, throwing a thin purple glow across the bellies of the clouds above. And in his chest, Shiro’s heart had begun to race when he had tipped his head back down and watched as a figure carved itself out of the darkness. One step at a time, a body crafting a beacon out of the storm raging across their world. 

Dark hair had been plastered against his forehead, his cheeks, his neck, as rainwater streamed down in relentless torrents over his skin. Every ounce of him had been completely drenched. But there had been a smile, livewire in its excitement, upon his lips, and his eyes were as dark as the world around them, carrying within them that same promise of life's renewal. 

When he had stepped up to Shiro, with that smile challenging the world and gaze burning intense and remorseless as it bore right into his own, there was nothing he could have done to save himself. No further thoughts of salvation as those lips had pressed against his, pulling a kiss from him as deeply as the earth pulled the rain into itself, with that smile that had lingered as sweet as smoke throughout it all. 

“I thought you said this wasn’t going to turn into anything.”

Words that had been whispered warm and notably lacking in accusation against the corner of his mouth.

And he had laughed then, like a soul cut free. “Sometimes these things take you by surprise, Keith.”

*

A scream rips through the air, fierce and full of a fight still believed to be worth the effort. Shiro watches as the sound rushes out over Keith’s lips, as he charges once more into the fray with his sword flashing bright and the blood running in thick rivulets down his temple. His helmet had been knocked off three soldiers ago, left where it had fallen with echoes of voices filling the space where Keith's head should have been. Shiro hears each voice, electric as they cut across the headset, but he barely has time to answer. He can only watch as Keith sweeps forward without question, each step swallowing the ground with a certainty born of endless practice.

Keith moves like he believes that victory is owed to him. Like he has earned it with every drop of blood, every ounce of his beliefs, every bit of pain that has ever been ground right down into his bones.

Shiro catches sight of him when he can, afforded only brief moments between his own battles. It makes him think this had been a mistake, that he had made some grave miscalculation in coming to this planet, even as they had all known it was inevitable. Someone had to do something, and who else was now left in the universe.

There is only them. Only Voltron. And that thought shakes Shiro right to his core some days. 

Keith throws another Galra soldier, spins on the ball of his foot and catches another with his sword. His hair is all but glued by sweat to the back of his neck, and the blood is running a thin pink down the line of his neck now. Shiro just makes out the swell of his lower lip, a dark cut glaring out from the corner of his mouth. 

Another war cry slices into the air, putting the fight right back into muscles exhausted and clearing thoughts ramming against limits. When their eyes meet, Shiro sees the darkness consuming Keith’s gaze, this tumultuous blue-grey of storm-swept seas. Mere seconds of connection that tells Shiro everything he needs to know, and he digs into the fight, a lion amongst hyenas. 

Keith moves like he is trying to outgun loss. A veritable hurricane sweeping across the battlefield, tearing apart anything that might try to devastate his world. 

Every bit the unstoppable force of nature Shiro ever thought he could be. 

When silence finally settles over the field, and all that remains is just the two of them, standing there as their headsets spit out signs of life once more, Shiro finds himself breathless for reasons other than exertion. 

Because Keith smiles at him then, chest heaving, waving off the pain Shiro knows must be coursing through his body thick as mud. Waving for Shiro to come in closer, ever beckoning. Shiro can only laugh, this soft soul-stealing sort of sound because he remembers rain blanketing the desert, and a gaze infused with lightning, and a kiss that drank from his very soul.

And it is every bit the rescue he has ever needed.


End file.
